As Therese brushed her teeth, she wanted to stay. She really did—and not just as in tonight. She wanted to live in a nice place like this, with clean, sweetly scented towels, and cupboards that were stocked by a thoughtful doggen, and rugs that were vacuumed by someone else. She wanted internet that she didn’t pay for, and shelves she didn’t have to dust herself, and dishes that cleaned themselves.

More than anything, though, she wanted to wake up next to Trez every night. And take coffee across from him down at that little table. And ride into work with him to her job at the restaurant. She wanted text messages from him throughout her shift, just little nothings, a meme, a stupid gif, a quick story about a crazy happening at his club. Then she wanted him to pick her up and drive her back here, the two of them chatting about what work had been like.

When they got home, she wanted to split meal prep with him. She wanted to chop vegetables on a wooden cutting board while he broiled steaks in the oven. She wanted fresh bread that smelled good, and a meal set out family-style on plates on the little table. She wanted more traded stories, from the human news or the vampire social media groups or something he’d overheard at the club from one of the bouncers.

Then cleanup. Then making love up here.

Then again, and again, until the years became decades and the decades centuries.

’Til death—in a long, long, incalculably long time off—did they part.

After which… the Fade. For eternity. Side by side.

“God, what am I thinking,” she muttered to herself.

But yes, fine, if she were honest, she wanted the mortal version of forever on the earth with him and then the mystical one on the Other Side. And if there were young? Great. And if there were not, great.

That they were together was all that mattered.

As these wild fantasies went through her mind, she stared at herself in the mirror over the sinks, a strange awareness rippling through her consciousness and going deeper. Much, much deeper.

It was as if she had thought these things before, and not because she was in a relationship with someone else.

It was him. For some reason… it had always been him.

Trez seemed, tonight at least, to be her ghost lover and her destiny, all wrapped up in one.

“And I know that’s crazy,” she said as she pulled a towel around herself.

Turning the lights off with her mind, she meant to turn away from her reflection. She did not. She could not.

That strange sense of connection with Trez, of bonding with him, of being fated to be with him, refused to go away—and she didn’t want to go back out there until she placed it in a more reasonable context. She had learned long ago that romantic feelings were powerful—but that didn’t mean they were permanent. And considering the sex they’d had? Followed by his emotional breakdown and her SuperSoul Sunday sharing stuff?

To paraphrase Oprah.

It was best to remember that anything her brain coughed up right now was the result of all the endorphins that had been released—

Out of the corner of her eye, she caught a flash of something down in the snow-covered backyard.

Frowning, she went over and looked through the double-paned glass she’d leaped free of.

Right next to her messy landing spot, there was a glow out there, and not as in a security-camera kind of thing. It was more like a residual phosphorescence, a lingering, rainbow-colored shadow, as if something—

“What. The. Fu… dgeknuckles.”

In her mind, she went all the way to “fuck.” In this nice bathroom, however, with the fluffy scented towel around her and the shampoo and conditioner someone else had paid for perfuming her damp hair, she wanted to keep the cursing to a minimum even if she was alone.

And even if it was warranted.

And even though she wasn’t sure that “fudgeknuckles” was a word or what it would mean if it was.

But some kind of f-something or another was warranted… because right under the odd, dissipating glow was a mark in the snowpack. A large mark with two triangles on either side.

Like someone had lain down next to where she had flopped and made an angel by moving their arms and legs up and back.

To send her a message.

Abruptly, the hairs at her nape tingled and goose bumps rose on her arms. Shaking her head, she twisted the venetian blinds down so that she couldn’t see out—and whoever had done that couldn’t see in.

Although given that glow? She was willing to bet normal rules didn’t apply. Assuming this wasn’t all a figment of her unreliable mind.

Determined to put this, and so much else, behind her, she walked out of the bathroom.

Trez was in the bed on his back, his bare shoulders emerging out of the duvet that had been pulled up almost to his collarbones. His eyes were closed and his breathing was uneven, the hand he’d left out of the covers twitching, his lids fluttering as if he were dreaming.

And not of pleasant things.

Staying where she was, she watched him for a while. If he hadn’t explicitly asked her to stay, she would have left him. She had a feeling he hadn’t slept in a while, and surely a good day’s repose could offer him more than she could when it came to help. But she didn’t want to go, and not just because she didn’t want him to be alone.

Approaching the bed, she lifted the duvet and slid in between the sheets, ditching the damp towel onto the floor. Turning to face him, she was about to close her eyes when he rolled toward her. With a groan, his arms reached out and drew her into his warm, vital body, and as the contact was made, the ragged sigh he released in his sleep both broke her heart… and made her whole at the same time.

He needed her.

And somehow, she sensed she needed him just as much.

When Therese did close her eyes, she felt a peace come over her. And it was something she did not question.

This stranger seemed like destiny in so many ways.

Especially as she thought about her random choice to come to Caldwell when she’d left her family.

It was almost as if meeting him had been the reason.

CHAPTER TWENTY

Trez woke up at the whisper-quiet whirring of the illusion shutters as they came down over all the glass in the little house. For a split second, he knew exactly where he was. He was with his Selena, and they were in their mated bed, and the whole nightmare of her death and the pyre and the aftermath?

Nothing worth worrying about. Just ether coughed out by his subconscious, a nightmare generated by his deepest fears, a burp of terror in his brain.

Releasing his breath, he reclosed his gritty eyes and brought his shellan even closer. In her sleep, her head found the place it always did on his pec, and her arm encircled him, and her hand found the dent in the side of his hip. Finally, her fingertips soothed that contour of his pelvis, just as they always did—

His lids flipped open again.

Oddly enough, the low-level irritation of his eyes was what brought it all back. They were swollen and rough because he had wept in front of her. After he had lost it while they had been having sex. And then not explained his outburst.

Shit, he mouthed into the darkness.

As the recalibration occurred, reality raising its ugly head once again, anxiety churned the two pieces of toast he’d eaten while she’d taken a shower, and he had to sit up so he didn’t get sick. Carefully disentangling himself from her, he pushed his torso higher on the pillows and was glad when she rearranged herself in his lap.